Brosca - First Blood
by FalconHawk
Summary: Every legend has to start somewhere. Roaran's story starts when he was only eight years old, when he sustained his first battle wounds, and spilled blood for the first time.


The casteless weren't welcome in the markets of Orzammar. The only place in the city they were considered somewhat welcome was Dust Town, the oldest and most rundown part of the proud city of Orzammar. Even in Dust Town, the casteless had to watch their backs. When all you had was nothing, a few copper coins was suddenly worth killing over, and more than one duster had been murdered over just that, and sometimes even less. The casteless followed no law, and there was no law protecting them. A guardsman could beat a casteless dwarf to death in streets for no reason other than he felt like it. Any merchant could kill a casteless simply because he looked at the merchandise the wrong way.

Despite the consequences, there was a young dwarf who defied the unwritten laws imposed on the casteless, and frequently slunk from the shambles of Dust Town and into the markets. His name was Roaran Brosca. The eight year old Roaran was fully aware of what lay in store for him if he exposed himself, or if he were too slow when the guards or the ever-present drunken smith took an interest in him, he'd be killed and tossed in a lava pool. But he had no choice unless he wanted to starve. More than once, a sword-swinger would be called off halfway through his lunch to deal with some sudden incident and would leave behind a half-eaten mole sausage, or a servant caste would have to set aside their meal while being shouted at by whatever noble wad of slime they served. There was one time that Roaran had snatched a piece of some kind of meat straight out of a visiting human's hand. He'd returned an hour later to make off with the same human's coin purse… although he didn't have it for very long before his mother beat him over the head, liberated the currency, and then used it to purchase more moss wine.

Roaran unconsciously rubbed his head under a thick layer of matted red hair where the final blow had been landed and surveyed the market once more from the shadows to one side of a Paragon statue, he couldn't read the plaque at the feet of the statue, but someone had told him that it was Gherlen the Blood-Risen. He considered the statue to be good luck, seeing as how Gherlen had started life as a casteless then after numerous adventures on the surface had returned to Orzammar in force, backed by an army of mercenaries, killed the former king in single combat, and then ordered the sod-hoppers in the Assembly to name him King of Orzammar!

'_That is the way things should be!_' Roaran thought to himself. '_The strong take what they want… and Roaran Brosca is strong!_'

Thoughts of Gherlen soon vanished from his mind as he saw a merchant sigh with content smile on his face and pat his stomach with one hand, the other holding hand still holding half a sandwich. "Just drop whatever's left…" He thought so hard he ended up whispering the words. "Just… drop whatever's left… come-on merchant man, you don't need it anymore… Just leave it for a starving boy!" Roaran's eyes shot open wide in horror and the merchant tossed the remains towards the massive swirl of lava that Orzammar was centered around, and then his breath caught in his throat as the remnants of the meal landed on the railing that separated the market from the lava. Roaran couldn't wait any longer and burst from his hiding place at a full-on sprint towards the few mouthfuls of food that promised another day of life.

"Little casteless bastard!" The merchant shouted, drawing the attention of every dwarf within earshot. Roaran ignored the suddenly irate merchant and dove headlong towards his salvation. He felt something impact his back, it felt like a clenched fist, but Roaran barely felt it, he was too focused on his prize, and then he suddenly had it in his hand! Half a crust of bread… an entire half crust of bread! He landed hard on his front and started to come back to his feet, only to be sent flying from a sudden kick to the ribs from the merchant. Roaran landed with his body curled around the bread, doing everything he could to protect it. He caught a brief glimpse of the merchant coming towards him, some sort of metal tool raised above his head like a sword.

Roaran shrieked and rolled away, coming back to his feet in the same motion and running back towards Dust Town. The merchant, who was angry for suddenly no reason was shouting behind him, "Thief! Guards, stop that little casteless thief!" But Roaran was only vaguely aware of the sudden buzz of activity behind him.

'_They're not going to catch me!_' Roaran thought as a confident smile spread across his face. '_Roaran Brosca wins this round!_'

Even though he was only eight years old, Roaran knew that the guards wouldn't go very far into the borders of Dust Town. Guards only went there in force out of sense of self-preservation, there were hundreds of casteless living there, and the armor, coin, and weapons that could be salvaged from just one guard could feed a dozen of them for a month! '_Hopefully I can get to my normal hiding place before any of those casteless notice me!_'

Only a few minutes later, Roaran peeked out from the wreckage of an ancient and collapsed house. Just as he suspected, the guards had given up the search and returned to the market. Roaran grinned happily again and looked to his piece of bread. It had been crushed and turned a shade of brown from being clenched in his fist as he ran, but it was still one of the most appetizing things he'd ever seen! As Roaran lifted the morsel of deliciousness to his nose, he could smell that it was fungus bread, made from mushrooms harvested from the Deep Roads! Very hard to get, and very expensive. Probably the most expensive food he'd ever managed to pilfer!

Roaran moved the bread towards his mouth, which was already salivating in anticipation… and then he screamed in pain as he felt his hand being crushed in the grip of another.

"No!" Roaran yelled at the top of his eight year old lungs. "It's mine!"

"Not for long!" The answer came. And Roaran recognized the voice of Larek, a casteless boy in his teens, old enough to have spawned a bastard of his own by now and be kicked out by whatever parent had spawned him. "Gimme the food, salroka! Give it to me or all break every bone in your sodding hand!"

Roaran howled in pain and tried to yank his hand away, but he wasn't strong enough. "No!" He shouted again in defiance.

Larek grabbed a fistful of Roaran's flaming red hair and smashed his head into the ruins of one of the stone walls. Roaran screamed in pain, but held firm to his prize. He still refused to relent his grip even when he felt his head collide with the wall a second time. And then he was on his back on top of a pile of rubble and Larek was slamming his hand onto a jagged rock trying to break his grip, but still Roaran would not relent.

Roaran wasn't sure if he howled first, or if Larek's rock collided with his closed hand, breaking two of his fingers. "No!" Roaran shouted a final time. "It's mine!"

"Well now it's mine!" Larek returned, and brought his rock crashing down onto Roaran's fist a second time, breaking a third finger. Larek finally pried the fungus bread from Roaran's crippled hand, and then just to rub Roaran's defeat in his face, he waited until Roaran looked up at him, then shoved the delicious scrap in his own mouth, chewing and smacking his lips as loudly as possible. Once the crust of bread had been consumed, Larek turned to leave, then thought better of it and turned back to Roaran, kicking him the chest one final time for good measure.

Roaran groaned quietly in pain and curled his body around his ruined hand. The groans turned to whimpers as the full pain began to hit him, as well as the weight of what he'd lost. The first tears began to form at the inner corners of Roaran's closed eyes, but the young duster refused to cry. '_I'm strong!_' He told himself silently. '_I'm strong like Gherlen!' _Roaran rose to his feet and started to limp his way back to the shamble of a house that he shared with his mother and older sister. He only hoped that his worthless drunk of a mother would be out, and that his sister Rica would be home. Rica was the only person that Roaran knew he could trust, the only person that he allowed himself to confide in.

Despite Roaran's wishes, Roaran's mother Kalah was indeed home, and was seated at the table in the first room. The table itself was little more than a flattened boulder, how it got inside the house was anyone's guess, it had been there when the shoddy house's previous owner had died. Fortunately however, Kalah was already too deep into her moss wine to notice her young son slip in through the door. Roaran kept his broken hand tucked against his chest, trying not to let it move. His good hand pressed against his head where Larek had bashed it twice against a wall, the blood that had poured out was already starting to dry and from the hair on the right side of his head to harden into cached and twisted mess. He only whimpered once as he made his way towards the back room where his sister usually spent her time, at the noise from her son, Kalah turned her head towards him and drunkenly mumbled something that Roaran couldn't understand, and he quickened his pace, hoping that she would lose interest, and she did.

Roaran's bare feet padded along quietly until he reached the bedroom in the back that he shared with his twelve year old sister. He found Rica sitting cross-legged on the stone bed, the only ratty blanket in the entire house folded up beneath her, and a pile of Rica's own bright red hair in her lap. Unlike many of the casteless, Rica did not have the stomach for violence, and lacked any skill in thievery, but she had other ways to bring in a few coins. One such method was to grow her hair out for several months, then cut it off and twist it into braids. Rica had somehow come to know someone in the servant caste who would purchase the braids, for what purpose she couldn't guess, but the coin that he paid was enough to buy several weeks' worth of food, provided their mother didn't get her hands on it first.

Rica was halfway through her fifth braid when she heard a stifled whimper, and she turned her head towards the source, she found Roaran standing just inside the doorway, obviously in tremendous pain, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, and cradling one hand against his chest and his other hand holding his head. Rica knew her brother, and she knew that although he was only a mere eight years old, he was already too proud to cry. That didn't stop Rica from leaping to her feet, red braids and loose hair both flying everywhere as she ran towards him, she stopped before they collided, afraid that she would only further aggravate his injuries. Not sure of what else to do, Rica held the uninjured side of his head.

"Roaran…" She said in a voice that spoke of nothing but her love and concern for her little brother, but not knowing what else to say. "What happened?"

Roaran whimpered again and whipped the tears from his eyes before they could fall. "I… I'm hurt." He said quietly.

Rica took hold of the hand that he covered his head with but Roaran wouldn't allow her to pull it away. "What happened?" She asked again.

"C…C… Can you help me?" He stuttered quietly. As young as he was, it was already hard for him to ask for help.

Rica nodded, and led him back to the bed where she sat him down the folded blanket she'd previously been using as a cushion, then she gently took the hand that Roaran was holding over his head-wound, he allowed her to pull it away. Rica grabbed a frayed edge of the blanket and pulled hard, ripping off several inches of the moth-eaten, thread bare blanket which she wrapped around two fingers and began rubbing away the blood. Roaran moaned quietly in pain and clenched his hands around his thumbs. Rica looked with disgust at the ugly wound and made a noise as she sucked on her teeth. "I'll… have to sew it up." She said reluctantly.

Roaran tried to smile as he replied sarcastically, "Do you think you can sew my name into it?"

His sister chocked on her own laugh as she answered, "You know as well as I do that I can't write."

"It's never too late to learn." Roaran shrugged.

Rica didn't laugh this time, she only smiled and shook her head in amusement as she went to go look for something that could service as a needle. In the end she found a splinter of metal that would suffice, and tied several strands of her own hair together to use as thread. Other than a few pained groans, Roaran never made a sound, he only clenched his thumbs again and gritted his teeth against the pain.

As soon as Rica had tied off and cut the makeshift thread, she turned her attention to Roaran's crippled hand. In the end she tied his three broken fingers together with strips of cloth she tore from her own dress. Once the first aid had been taken care of, Rica braced her back against the wall as she sat next to Roaran and draped an arm over his shoulders, pulling her little brother closer.

"You didn't cry." She said, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. "You never cry."

"I don't know how I would even start." Roaran tried to grin, but the pain that persisted in his hand and head wouldn't allow for it.

Rica was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. "I cry… I cry a lot. For me, for mother, for our situation, because I'm cold, because I'm hungry… and I cry for you sometimes."

"Don't." Roaran said, and there was no sarcasm in his voice this time. "Don't ever cry for me, don't ever feel sorry for me. Not now, not ever!"

Rica didn't reply for some time, she only moved her hand from Roaran's shoulder to his head, and then slowly brought his head against her shoulder. Roaran didn't resist. Rica was the one person in the entire would that he never argued with, and refused to fight with. "Roaran…" Rica finally said, "Why? Why are you like this?"

"Because I have to be." He answered. "Neither of our fathers are here, and that makes me the only man of the house. I have to be strong, for me, for you…" He scowled before saying, "And even for our mother. That's why I don't cry. Because strong Dwarva don't cry."

"Yes they do." Rica countered. "They just don't let anyone see it. The truth is that it takes a strong dwarf to cry."

Roaran abruptly pulled way, backing himself into a corner as he looked at Rica. It took Rica only a few seconds to see small pools of water forming at the corners of his eyes, and she could tell that the juvenile Roaran was doing his best to keep them from falling.

"It's alright…" Rica said quietly, holding her arms open towards her brother. "It's alright…" She repeated, and the first tear that she'd ever seen from Roaran rolled down his cheek. "Just cry Roaran." And he did, while at the same time flinging himself towards her, quickly wrapping one arm around her in a fierce hug, the arm with the broken hand moving more slowly and more delicately.

Roaran cried. He cried because he was the bastard son of a father he would never know. He cried because the only reward he ever received from his mother was a beating. Because he couldn't do better for his family. Because he loved Rica, and he couldn't do better for her. Because he loved his mother, although the only caress she'd ever returned had been with the back of her hand. Because he lived in Dust Town, because he was casteless, because he was already a criminal whose only recourse was to remain a criminal. And because he'd been badly beaten by Larek. When he finally released Rica, he'd turned a large patch of her stained dress wet with his tears.

And then Roaran's face turned hard again, and the tears abruptly stopped, more than that, they ceased. The hard look on Roaran's face was an expression that didn't belong to an eight year old dwarf, it belonged to a Legionnaire of the Dead, come back to Orzammar to gather supplies and recruit reinforcements. It was the look of someone who knew exactly what he had to do, and no force in all of Thedas would stop him.

"I'll be back." He said in a voice that made Rica want to shiver.

* * *

While Dust Town primarily served as a home to the casteless it also served one other purpose, it served as a dumpsite for the other, higher castes. In dumping their trash on the edges of Dust Town, the other castes also afforded many of the casteless the opportunity to live. While the casteless were generally without a trade, or any other type of skill other than crime, they were able to sell off some of the junk and earn enough coin to survive one more day. Still others combed the junk piles for scraps of food that had been thrown out with the refuse. Regardless of the reason, there were always casteless dwarves sorting through the massive piles of trash. Roaran was no exception to that, and had from time to time fought with others for the possession of lost or forgotten 'treasures'.

Today however, Roaran wasn't looking for food or something to sell. He had very specific items in mind, and it didn't take long for Roaran to find something that would suffice, a copper pipe, broken on one end from who knows what, but still sturdy and about a foot and a half long. It took significantly longer for him to locate the second item he needed, but he eventually found a length of flexible wire, made from a metal he didn't know yet. The third item he needed he could find in literally any part of Dust Town, a jagged rock, slightly larger than his fist. He then combined his three prizes by wrapping the pipe and rock together with the wire, turning them into a primitive mace.

Roaran gave his first weapon a few practice swings through the air, then a few more into the ground to see if it could withstand heavy impacts, it did indeed remain true. Once he was satisfied that he'd built a functional weapon he set off towards the part of town that he knew Larek tended to haunt.

He found his former assailant in the space between two crumbling buildings. Apparently after a long hard day of stealing from children a fraction of his age, he felt entitled to a nap in a dank alleyway. Roaran saw a few 'personal touches' in the narrow space as well, and he got the impression that Larek lived in this small alley. He briefly wondered if what he was doing could qualify as a home invasion. Roaran smirked as he lifted his homemade mace over his head, he already had murder on the mind, a home invasion only made it more enticing! Roaran brought the mace down with all the force he could muster, and the rock collided with the top of Larek's head.

The older boy's eyes shot wide open at the impact, his hands flew to his head, and his mouth opened wide as he screamed in pain.

"How do ya like that?!" Roaran shouted, and he smashed the weapon into Larek's head again. "Yeah… not so nice is it when _I'm _the one doing the beating!" A third strike followed and it split the teenager's head open, and Larek's attempts at escape slowed, he was dying, but Roaran still wasn't done yet. "I'm Roaran Brosca… and no one will ever steal from me again!" The fourth strike killed Larek, and he fell face down in the mud of the alleyway that had served as a home. "Not after everyone hears about what happened here!" Roaran shouted as he continued to rain strikes down on his former tormentor, shouting insults and curses the entire time. He only stopped when Larek's head had been reduced to a gory puddle and chunks of bone.

Roaran dropped his mace next to the splattered remains of his enemy's head. It had served its purpose, and he had not further use for it. He almost grabbed it again when he saw another dwarf standing in the street looking into the alley at him. The dwarf was another boy, maybe just old enough to be considered a man as he had a short beard covering his jawline, dark but not black, like the rest of his hair. His hair itself was too well combed and shiny for him to be casteless, and he wasn't wearing armor, which meant he wasn't a guard, so that left Roaran with no idea of who this dwarf was, or what he was doing in Dust Town.

Fortunately for Roaran, the other dwarf spoke first. "Nice work there, duster-boy." His voice was deep, but it was also smooth, and his accent only further confirmed Roaran's feeling that he wasn't casteless. He drew a long dagger from his belt, and Roaran froze in fear, but the dwarf only tossed the dagger to the ground near Roaran's feet. "I'd be interested to see how you handle yourself with a real weapon." When Roaran hesitated to pick up the dagger, he said, "Go on duster. I have better weapons at home, go ahead and keep that one."

Roaran picked up the dagger and looked it over, he didn't have a belt so he had to keep it in his hand. The dagger's blade was almost as long as his forearm. With the hilt included, and considering Roaran's juvenile size it was almost the size of a sword. It had been forged from iron, and it looked like the smith had attempted some sort of engraved figure along the blade, but had given up halfway through and had discarded the dagger.

The juvenile casteless never took his eyes from the other dwarf and he stooped and picked up the dagger.

"Go ahead." The well-fed looking dwarf said from where he stood in the dirt street. "It's yours now. Play with it for a second."

Roaran still kept his eyes glued to the dwarf as he flexed his fingers around the hilt, then switched to and underhand grip, back to overhand, and then switched it to his left hand. Roaran couldn't help but smile. He already loved the weapon. He looked back to the older dwarf, and saw that a satisfied grin had settled over his face. "Whaddaya want?" Roaran asked.

"Nothing." The dwarf answered.

"_Pffft…_" Roaran puffed air through his lips in disbelief. He was young but he wasn't naïve, and he certainly wasn't stupid. "That ain't true." He said cautiously. "No one gives anything away for nothing. "So whaddaya want, salroka?"

"The name is Beraht." The dwarf volunteered. "My family has a small shop up in the commons. But what's more important is that I'm with the Carta." Beraht grinned again as he saw Roaran swallow. '_Good. At least this duster has a sense of self-preservation. Now let's see how smart he really is._' He thought to himself before saying, "I think we can help each other out."

Roaran stayed silent for several moments, his new dagger clenched in his hand before he replied, "Yeah? You still ain't told me what ya want."

Beraht chuckled. He liked this kid. "I want you to come to my shop in about an hour and listen to a… a business proposition." He could tell that the kid was mulling the idea over in his young head, trying to find a second angle that Beraht might use against him. Beraht decided to add another incentive to the pot. "If you come and listen to what I have to say, then I promise you a full meal, as well as some coins. They're yours if you come, even if you say no to what I have to offer. It's a win-win situation for you kid, money and a meal just for listening… So what do you say?"

"I say…" Roaran was still thinking about it, but after a few seconds he answered, "I'll be there."

* * *

Gravy and other juices slid down from Roaran's lips where they dripped from his chin to the angular stone table that he now sat at. After finishing a slab of meat from some animal that Roaran had never even heard of before, he reached for a cup filled with some kind of white liquid he didn't recognize. After taking several swallows he asked, "What is this… it's delicious!"

"The surfacers call it milk." Beraht answered. He also hadn't missed how half the meal was now wrapped in a cloth napkin which rested in the duster's lap. Beraht surmised that the duster was saving it for someone else. "Apparently not many animals down here make it. That milk supposedly came from some animal I've never heard of called a goat."

Roaran nodded, then guzzled down the rest of the milk, returning his attention to the only food that remained on his plate, a soup he didn't recognize, but was told that it was made from subterranean plants and mushrooms, it was also delicious. After sucking the last drops of soup broth from the bowl, Roaran wiped his mouth with a dirty sleeve, then looked up at Beraht and asked, "So now I ask again… whaddaya want?"

"I want you to work for me." Beraht answered simply.

"The Carta is hiring eight year olds?" Roaran asked skeptically.

"No… Not the Carta. Just me."

"I ain't a merchant." Roaran answered.

"I know." Beraht chuckled. "Let me explain." He leaned back in his stone chair and sipped from a mug of dwarven ale. "The only reason that the Carta is interested in me is that my family has connections up on the surface. We move stuff from up there down here to sell to the Dwarva, and we haul stuff up there to sell to the humans. The only problem is that I'm a pretty small-time operation for the Carta, they got more merchant families with bigger suppliers on the surface than me, so after the Carta's cut I'm really not making that much… that's where you come in duster!"

"I don't get ya." Roaran said, eyeing the dwarven ale curiously. "Sounds like a personal problem."

"It is." Beraht growled unhappily. "The problem within the problem is that I don't know when and where the other family's shipments will arrive… or I'd have my boys on the surface hit them. So I want you to listen in on some of the Carta's meetings, find out when and where the convoys are coming, and then I'll have my guys hit them and add the stuff to my own supplies. In the end, I'll get more coin, and you'll get more food and a part of the coin… I'll even give you better weapons if you want."

Roaran didn't have to think for long before he answered. "I want!"

Beraht grinned happily. "I was hoping you'd say that!" He answered. "I'll let you know when and where the meeting is going to happen." He stopped and stroked his beard twice before saying, "What is your name? I'd rather not keep calling you 'duster'."

"I'm Roaran."

Beraht poured a smaller mug of dwarven ale and slid it across the table to Roaran. "Roaran my boy… I think this is going to be the start of a very profitable, very good, and very long friendship!"

Roaran sipped the dwarven ale, then smacked his lips a few times as he took in the full flavor of the drink before guzzling it down. He already loved it. Then he raised his empty mug towards Beraht and announced, "If you give me a refill I'll drink to that!"

Beraht laughed again as he reached for the pitcher.

* * *

_I'm not sure what the canon explanation is for how Brosca ended up with the Carta, or if there even is an explanation, so I decided to make up my own. And it was also interesting to write Beraht as something other than the badguy. I might do a second chapter describing how Rica ended up with the Carta as well, and how Roaran and Beraht went from friends to enemies, it will depend on the reception that this story gets... So with that in mind, please review. See ya..._

_~Falconhawk_


End file.
